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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Shelf. X-S^ S3 

UNITED STATES OF AMERrclT 



SERIOUS THOUGHTS 



IDLE MOMENTS 




CC/t lU/o/l fi/roc^i^is, f^ft/^i^ /^^rtrvt.fA jT^v^ny l<J&<H^i 



SERIOUS THOUGHTS 



AND 



3ft)le jWiomcntjS 



BY / 

ROBERT SALE HILL 



r 



PRIVATELY PRINTED . A 






Copyright, 1S92, 
Bv Robert Sale Hill. 



Stntbrrsito Xixtss-. 
John Wilson and Son, Camhrihge. 



This little volume I dedicate to 

Wot iflemorg 

OF A TRUE, BRAVE, AND SYMPATHETIC LITTLE WIFE, 

7vho sharc'd all tny sorroivs and troubles, bearing up 
bravely to tJie end. Whatei'er intrinsic worth there 
may be in my later poems is due largely to her luartn 
and sympathetic interest, ever ready to be manifesied 
in my life's efforts. 

ROBERT SALE HILL. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

To MY Boy 9 

The Shadows of Time lo 

A Kind Heart 12 

The Rising Generation 13 

Life's Highest Title . 15 

Ode to the First Fly 17 

Old Love-letters 19 

Dreams of Spiritland 25 

Summer Fancies 27 

No Man's Land 29 



P O E Tvl S. 



TO MY BOY. 

T3R0WN will replace your golden hair 

While mine is turning gray, 
And as your growth begets my care, 

So your dawn sees my day. 
But heart to heart, and hand in hand, 

With strength your trials to share, 
We vvill struggle together through stormy weather. 

Taking our rest when it 's fair. 
And the mother's face you hardly know, 

Reflected again in your own, 
With undying love looks down from above 

On the good seeds she has sown. 



THE SHADOWS OF TIME. 

I ."^ROM out the dim eternity of years, 

Light shadows play upon the infant's face, 
Changing the dimpled merriment to tears, 

Then flitting somewhere, soon are lost in space : 
So light their touch that boyhood heeds it not. 

But rather pines for age to bridge the span 
Which now divides the stream he longs to leap, 

And find himself at last enrolled a man. 
Still they creep on, sure in their march, but slow, 

When gauged by youth's ambition to be known, 
To make a name, even perchance to grow 

Esteemed for having reaped where age has sown. 
Until young love appears, and smiling calls 

The heart and mind aside, nor lets it dwell 



TJie Shadotvs of Time. 1 1 

On anything save love ; for love enthralls 

And even fetters wisdom with her spell. 
A year or two of bliss, — the goal in sight, — 

With fortune, fame, and happiness complete ; 
Then retrospection, like some waning light. 

Plays on the past, and sums it up " Defeat." 
The shadows deepen as the noonday glare 

Of youth dies out, and dusk sets in at last ; 
Responsibility and worldly care 

Are set at rest in memories of the past. 
The shadows settle, and the past is o'er ; 

Memory flickers, childishness sets in ; 
A messenger from out that unknown shore 

Closes the book, and calls the next of kin. 



A KIND HF:ART. 

\ KIND heart, a hand to caress me, 
Two chairs by the fireside alone, 
A true heart to comfort and bless me, 

A love which shall be all my own. 
A feeling of perfect contentment ; 

A presence to sanctify home, 
To chase away every resentment, 

With love which shall be all my own ; 
A shrine where each trouble confided. 

Grants sympathy which shall atone. 
What though all the world has denied it. 

She tenders me comfort my own. 
A something to think of and sigh for, 

A presence to sanctify home. 
A woman if need be to die for, 

For death would still keep her my own. 



THE RISING GENERATION. 

Dramatis Person.-e: 
Man of the World, aged about twenty-five years. 
Maiden, . . . aged about ten years. 

" TF I were just as big as you, 

And you were small like me, 
If you were I, and I were you, 
What would you like to be ? 
Would you care to be an angel, 
With harp, and alwnys good. 
And practise music all day long, — 
As Aunt Kate says I should? 

Or w^ould you like to have a beau 
Like Jack Jerome, next door ; 
He kissed me thirteen times last night, 

And then he cried for more. 
Or would you — " 



H 



Poems. 

" Wait one minute. 
I tell you what I 'd do, 
If you were just as big as I, 
And I was small like you, 
I would not care for Jack Jerome, 
And music is a bore ; 

But when your mother kissed me, 

You bet I 'd ask for more. 
Of course, you must not tell her this. 
For such things cannot be." 
" Well, if you like Mamma so much. 
Why don't you wait for me? " 



LIFE'S HIGHEST TITLE. 

LIFE 's but a span. The tidal wave of death 
Sweeps down all barriers of wealth and fame, 
And levels everything with icy breath, 

Leaving to rich and poor alike a name. 
" What 's in a name " bequeathed through dead men's 
deeds, 
If the recipient lets its lustre wane? 
The rarest flower may be raised by seeds, 

But 't is the gardener's skill which rears the same. 
What 's in a title ? Accidental birth 

Oft gives the proudest rank to idle mind, 
' While honest poverty may prove its worth 
By rising to be ruler o'er mankind. 
What then are titles, wealth, or worldly fame, 
Thrown in the balance with eternity? 



1 6 Poems. 

They crumble like the dust from which they came, 

And seek the region of obscurity. 
Be your own gardener, then, and weed the soil 

Which God hath given. Sow it if you can ; 
P'or when Death scatters all your years of toil. 

He leaves unscathed God's highest title, " Man." 



ODE TO THE FIRST FLY. 

■\T 7ELC0ME, little stranger, 

Harbinger of Spring ! 
Random little ranger 
On thy gauzy wing, 
Penetrating rover. 
How we wonder why 
Woods, and fields, and clover 
Cannot please a fly. 

Early in the morning, 
When we would woo sleep, 
All our efforts scorning, 
In our ears you creep, 

2 



1 8 Poems. 

Wander round the eyelid, 
Promenade the nose, 
Do what every fly did 
To murder man's repose. 

But you 're welcome, stranger, 
Harbinger of Spring ! 
We are screened from danger. 
You can have your fling. 
Walking upon the wire, 
Look in, and wonder why 
Mankind in his ire 
Kills the harmless fly. 



OLD LOVE-LETTERS. 

/'^PEN lies a desk before me ; 

In that desk a secret drawer. 
Touch the spring, there find secreted 

Only letters — nothing more — 
Tied together with a ribbon ; 

^Vorn and old, but not with age ; 
Creased with folding and re-folding, 

Worn with reading every page. 

Written in a girl's handwriting. 
Treasured relics of a past, — 

Of a past like Autumn sunset, 
Far too beautiful to last. 



20 Poems. 

Hers a love which, born in girlhood, 

Ripens never to decay, 
And remains unaltered ever. 

With death alone to pass away. 

Some may laugh, and say, What folly 

No such love was ever known. 
Every woman has her fancies, — 

Some to cherish, some disown, — 
And perhaps this one was dearer, 

Deeper rooted in her breast. 
And because it was more cherished, 

May have outlived all the rest. 

Reader, thus the world will argue ; 

Thus despise Heaven's gift above ; 
Thus deride what should be sacred, 

Simple faith in woman's love. 
Love comes once, and often sorrow 

Blending with it surely proves 



Old Love-letters. 21 



That true love's course, as says the adage, 
Very seldom runneth smooth. 

Read the letters ; they 're but human : 

Here and there a hasty word, 
Retrospection, then repentance. 

While the writing 's strangely blurred, — 
Tears, perhaps ; for any woman 

When she cannot man defy, 
She can soften in a moment 

If she '11 condescend to cry. 

The first begins, " My own, my darling ; " 

The last, *' My darling," — nothing more. 
The first concludes with, " Yours forever ; " 

The last with, " Yours for evermore." 
Her parents bade her choose another, 

For loving me she must regret ; 
She loved her father and her mother. 

But loving me could not forget. 



22 Poems. 

What misery that poor child suffered ! 

Her friends were cruel to be kind. 
Had I been rich, no one more welcome ; 

But being poor, wealth alters mind, 
Yet cannot change the love once grafted, — 

The true love buried in the heart, — 
The love no human power can alter, 

No human hand can tear aj^art. 

Our vows were plighted once forever; 

Love's soil was turned, its seeds were sown. 
I left her but to seek a fortune. 

And then return to claim my own. 
Ah, happy youth ! a year of waiting 

We said would consecrate our love. 
Man may propose, but God disposes, — 

All-wise the Power which rules above ! 

I struggled hard for independence, 
And fortune favors those who wait r 



Old Love-letters. 



I soon returned with means most ample, — 

Returned to find I was too late. 
Too late : a little black-edged letter, 

Written and sealed with dying breath, 
Contained these words, " I 've loved you ever, 

And have been faithful unto death." 

Her parents offered consolation, 

Asked me to share with them my grief. 
I fled their presence with thanksgiving. 

And sought in solitude relief. 
Here in my chamber, with her letters, 

A ribbon, and a lock of hair, 
I speak to her ; for she 's in heaven. 

And heaven is reached with silent prayer. 

And now you think, perhaps, I '11 marry, 

Forget the past, and happy be. 
No : to her memory I '11 be faithful, 

As unto death she was to me ; 



24 Poems. 

For well I know, although in heaven, 
Where earthly ties all must forget. 

She was so pure God will forgive her 
If, robed in white, she loves me yet. 



DREAMS OF SPIRITLAND. 

TT 7AFTED above us are forms light and airy, 
Softly they 're drifting around us on high,- 
Angtls of love, who look down from above 
With a tenderly loving and watchful eye. 

Standing beside us, friends long departed ; 

Standing behind us, relations most dear, — 
Passing us lightly, touching us slightly, 

Bending and whispering words in our ear. 

Is that a hand that is laid on my shoulder? 

Surely there 's something akin to me now ; 
Feelings intense bewilder my sense, — 

It is only my mother who 's kissing my brow. 



20 Poems. 

Only a mother, whose spirit is near you ; 

Will that not comfort and dry up your tears ? 
By disbelieving you yourself are bereaving. 

For you banish her presence by cowardly fears. 

Spirits above us, spirits who love us, 

Summoned will answer to our command ; 

They '11 never scorn us, but will always forewarn us 
Till our souls join them in Spiritland. 



SUMMER FAN'CIES. 

REALIZA'llON. 

T TA.MMOCK slung between two trees; 

Cigarette, and book, and breeze ; 
Lemonade, with just a squeeze ; 
Bachelor, not hard to please. 

TEMPTATION. 

Snowy muslin wandering by ; 
Dreamy look, half-smothered sigh ; 
Bachelor half wonders why 
Gordian knot is hard to tie. 

MEDITATION. 

Nights with meditation rife ; 
All the woes of single life — 
Socks, and buttons, endless strife — 
May be mended with a wife. 



28 Poems. 

RESOLUTION. 

Bachelor is now resolved : 
Introduction half evolved ; 
Interchanges quite involved ; 
Problem very nearly solved. 

CONSUMMATION. 

Moonlight walks a dangerous thing ; 
Heedless of mosquito sting ; 
Burning words, and lips which cling ; 
Business settled with a ring. 

RETROSPECTION. 

Hammock full of babies now ; 
Books all torn in infant row ; 
Loving mother wonders how 
Clouds can ruffle father's brow. 



NO MAN'S LAND. 

T T 7HERE the earth and sky are lost in sheen, 

The horizon meets the sea, 
Where no man hving has ever been, 

And no hving man may be, 
Where a boundless space makes chaos clear, 

And spirits supernal wend 
Their noiseless way, 'tvvixt night and day 

Lies eternity without end. 
I dreamt that I stood by the river 

Which washes the unknown shore. 
Where souls are recalled by the Givev 

To his kingdom " Forevermore." 
And his heralds hovered about me, 

Flitting past on an icy breath. 



30 Pocvis. 

Through the darksome night with burthen hght,- 

The pale messengers of death. 
And the air was still, and the river 

Flowed noiselessly at my feet, 
With neither a ripple nor quiver, 

Like the swathe of a winding-sheet. 
Yet sometimes a strain of music 

Seemed to rise and fall, and then, 
Like music afor, through gates ajar 

Came the sound of a grand amen. 
Perchance for threescore years and ten, 

The average of a man's life, 
We struggle on like other men 

For the sake of a home and wife. 
Perchance for threescore years and ten 

This world's goods we amply store. 
To enter with a brief amen 

" That great Forevermore." 
Thus seventy years of good intent 

Are wasted. Though they bore 



No Man's Laud. 



Life's record, a mere shadow spent 
In that great Forevermore. 

For what is a life compared to death ? 
A rivulet lost in the sea, 

Or trumpet blown with dying breath 
In the scales of eternity. 



